


No More Than 10 Minutes

by Izzygrace07



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, Dean Winchester Takes Care of Sam Winchester, Eating Disorders, False Accusations, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Infection, Kind Dean Winchester, M/M, No Romance, Sam Winchester Whump, Sick Sam Winchester, Urination, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 05:40:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20334967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzygrace07/pseuds/Izzygrace07
Summary: Sam has a UTI, but is too embarrassed to bring it up to Dean. False accusations are made, accidents happen, hotels trivago.





	No More Than 10 Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> I noticed a lack of wetting fics for Sam and Dean where it's purely just an accident, nothing sexual. I'm here to fix that.
> 
> This is based on something that literally happened to me on Sunday night. I currently have a UTI and I wet myself in front of my best friend when he was bringing me home because the one gas station along the way was closed. Life sucked that day.
> 
> So here's a story to make light of the situation. Enjoy.

"I'll be right back," Sam says, pushing his chair out and retreating towards the bathrooms for the third time since their meal began. He quickly maneuvers his way around bar and rushes into the bathroom, barely making it in time to stand in front of the urinal and undo his belt. However, when he finally let's go, little to nothing being released. Sam winces, wanting to dig his nails into his skin to make the pain transfer elsewhere; quite honestly, anywhere was better than on his dick.

No matter how long he stands there, legs weak and bladder aching, nothing more than a small stream is able to come out, and he lets out a frustrated whimper. It's been 3 of the most annoying days he's ever had to go through, feeling the need to urinate every couple minutes. Dean must have noticed by now, and it's only a matter of time before the situation is mentioned. Hopefully, the infection passes before then; after all, it usually only lasts a day or two. If it reaches his kidneys, however, he's going to have to tell Dean, and that's definitely gonna be a tough blow to take.

After a few minutes of nothing, Sam resigns, tucking himself back into his pants and flushing down the small bit of urine he could produce. He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, only to inhale sharply soon after. Already, again, the need returns. It's not nearly as strong, but it's still just as annoying.

'Fuck it,' Sam finally decides, stepping away from the urinal. 'I know this game by now. If it's not burning, it's phantom. I don't have to go.' Resolute in this idea, he quickly washes his hands in the diner's rusty sink before exiting the restroom.

He jumps when he's met with Dean, standing outside the bathroom with arms folded, eyebrows furrowed. Sam recognizes the look from anywhere: it's the look he gives before a problem is brought up.

"You know there are stalls, right?" Sam says jokingly, voice uneasy. He motions behind him at the bathroom, hoping to somehow get Dean to lose his train of thought. "If you need to go, you don't have to--"

"Sammy, why don't we get out of here?" Dean suggests, face remaining in its stoic state. "The diner's 'bout to close."

Sam's heart drops, and he clenches his teeth slightly, trying to remain neutral in expression. If Dean was gonna play the clueless game, so was he. As casually as he can manage without sending phantom urges and pain to his bladder, he shifts his weight onto one leg before replying, "Sounds good."

As the two make their way out the door, Sam notices just how little food he was able to eat because of how many times he had to run to the bathroom. He was able to take five, maybe six bites out of his burger, and he drank all the water in his cup in record time. Of course he regret the water soon after, immediately feeling to need to release it, but in his big brainiac head, he knows that drinking helps wash out the infection, and that's just what he needs right now.

In the impala, the two Winchesters drive in silence. The nearest hotel is about 40 miles away in Augusta, and after a few painful days of sleeping in the Impala with no actual bathroom, a hotel room is all that Sam could hope for. He's almost positive Dean could hear him get up every few hours to exit the car, going as far away as he could from it while it still remained in his eyesight, and painfully letting go of whatever his body was willing to let out.

It only takes 5 minutes for the phantom pains to return, and Sam squeezes his legs together, exhaling through clenched teeth. He seesDean glance over at him quickly before returning his eyes to the road, taking in a deep breath.

A clear sign that an important conversation is beginning.

"What's been going on with you lately?" Dean asks, keeping his gaze locked forward.

"What do you mean?" Sam inquires, feigning cluelessness.

"Come on, man," Dean insists, shooting a look at the younger Winchester. "You get up constantly during our meals to use the bathroom, you've got these giant bags under your eyes, you're barely able to eat anything. Just…" He lets out a breath, shaking his head. "If something's going on, Sammy, I gotta know."

Sam's leg begins to bounce, wincing as he fights away the pain. They can't be far from the hotel now. "It's nothing I can't handle, Dean. We've been through worse."

"It doesn't matter if we've been through worse. You gotta take care of yourself, man. Otherwise, this is gonna be what kills you."

Sam raises an eyebrow, unsure of how to feel about Dean's words. Just hearing them sends a jolt of pain into his bladder, making him shift in his seat uncomfortably. He knows that infections like this could be dangerous if left, but he never really thought of them as something that could kill him. After all, he's been doing the best he can to get rid of the infection without needing a hospital. Whether it's helping or not is a completely different worry, and one that Sam isn't willing to bring up yet.

"I'm doing what I can, okay?" Sam defends. The pain gets worse, and he runs his hands across his thighs anxiously. "There's only so much I can do without a hospital."

Dean scoffs. "How's a hospital gonna help?"

Sam blinks, puzzled. His brother isn't that naive, is he? "They could give me some meds, help it pass?"

"This kinda crap doesn't just pass, Sam," Dean insists. Sam notices as Dean grips tighter onto the steering wheel, knuckles going white. "It's not some common cold."

"I know that--"

"Do you?"

With no idea how to respond, Sam shakes his head, glancing out the window. He lets out a breath, eyebrows furrowing in discomfort. The pains are getting worse, so much so that he can't tell if they're from needing to pee or not.

"Can we stop somewhere?"

Sam feels Dean's disapproving glare burning into his head, but Dean still turns the car into the nearest gas station, thankful to see lights on. He's out of the car before it even stops, and he walks as fast as he can without seeming urgent, rushing up the stairs to his salvation. However, the door doesn't open when he pulls on it. Sam reaches for the other door, just in case, only for the same locked result. With a groan, he knocks on the glass, peering into the store. Nobody appears to be inside, despite the lights being on.

"Are you--?" He cuts himself off, yanking on the door one more time with aggravation. Nothing.

"Dude, we're twenty minutes away from the hotel," Dean calls from the car, sounding irritated. "Let's go. You can do your thing there, if you really want to."

Sam bites on his lip, glancing one last time at the door before walking back to the car, biting down a little more with each jab to his aching bladder. As soon as he's back in the car, his legs are cross and he's letting out a pained hiss through his teeth.

The two ride with tension floating in the air. No matter how hard he tries, it seems as if Sam's body just can't stop moving. He squirms wildly, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He hasn't held it this long since he got the infection, if he's even holding anything. His heartbeat pulses in his bladder, and everything in his body screams at him to let go. It's a battle of mind over mass, and the mind is losing by a long shot.

"Look, I'm sorry, man," Dean apologizes.

Sam doesn't look over at Dean, too focused on his own dilemma. "Why?"

"I know I'm being a dick about this, it's not something you could control." Dean sighs. "I can't say I know your pain personally, but it's tough. I know that much." There's a hand on Sam's shoulder. "We'll get through it, okay?"

While sentiment is appreciated, Dean's support goes through one ear. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks," he dismisses.

"I know you don't want to, but… Sam, promise me you'll eat something when we get to the hotel, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." Sam grabs at himself, face glowing red from strain.

"And as much as you want to, don't go running to the bathroom to puke it back up."

If he wasn't listening before, Sam is definitely listening now. He turns to Dean, utterly confused, and asks, "What? Why would I do that?"

Dean turns to give Sam a quick look, showing his seriousness of the situation. "Don't suddenly go stupid on me, Sammy. That ain't gonna make it go away."

Suddenly it clicks.

Sam lets out a halfhearted laugh. "You think I'm bulimic? That's what you think the problem is?"

Dean's eyebrows lower. "...Isn't it?"

"For fucks sake, Dean!" Sam practically yells, body begging for him to release whatever he has in him. "I'm not bulimic, I have a freaking UTI!" He doubles over, unable to see Dean's reaction or hear a response if there was any. His hands squeeze hard through his pants and onto his member, fighting ever signal his body is sending to his bladder.

"Dean, pull over, I'm gonna--!"

"I got it, I got it," Dean reassures, quickly pulling off to the side of the road. Sam claws at the door, yanking himself out of the car. As soon as he's standing, he tugs at his belt, bouncing on his feet.

"Come on, come on!" Sam practically begs, hands shaking as his legs wobble uncontrollably, body giving up on him. It doesn't take long for the flood to break through, stinging every part of Sam's lower region on the way out. 

Sam simply stares, defeated, watching as urine darkens his jeans and runs down his legs, the stream hitting the ground with noisy splashes. He lets out a choked sob, reaching back for the car to keep him from collapsing. Every second of his release is agony, and he can do nothing but grit his teeth and bear it, praying for it to end.

When it finally stops, Sam's breathless, overwhelmed with mortification. He just pissed his pants in front of his brother.

It takes a few moments of recovery, of accepting what has happened as reality, before Sam turns around. He is shocked to find Dean's jacket now off, draped on the seat. He's holding out one of the many dirty sweaters they need to clean at the hotel, a sympathetic smile on his face.

Sam smiles back, accepting the sweater and tying it around his waist.


End file.
